


What Silence Won't Protect

by RuminantMonk



Category: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 17:53:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19300777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RuminantMonk/pseuds/RuminantMonk
Summary: Tifa hadn’t been sleeping well, if at all. Since they’d left Nibelheim days ago, Aerith had been woken up late at night by Tifa's tossing and turning.





	What Silence Won't Protect

Tifa hadn’t been sleeping well, if at all. Since they’d left Nibelheim days ago, Aerith had been woken up by Tifa's tossing and turning late at night. It wasn’t her fault; Aerith was a light sleeper.

During the day, she noticed small differences. A badly timed block. Slight sluggishness in her gait. Her usual grace broken into skittish movements.

On their fifth night in the Nibel Mountains, Tifa approached her. They were rolling out their sleeping bags inside their pitched tent when she asked Aerith for a favor.

“Do you think you could use your materia to cast Sleep on me tonight?”

Aerith sat up. The flickering light of their storm lantern cast long shadows across Tifa’s face. They matched the ones under her eyes.

“Having trouble sleeping?”

Tifa nodded.

Aerith went back to smoothing out her sleeping bag. The tent was cramped and small, with barely enough room to fit the two of them. She fiddled with the green stone in her silver bangle.

“It won’t be a true, restful sleep, you know.”

Tifa’s eyebrow quirked.

“It’s more like a forced nap. You won’t go into REM sleep and when the spell wears off after a couple hours, you’ll almost certainly wake up.”

“Or maybe I’ll go right back to sleep?”

Aerith smiled. “Maybe.” She tried not to let skepticism color her tone.

“It’s just …” Tifa looked down at her hands. “I’ve been having nightmares.”

Aerith held her breath, tried to make space for her as best as she could.

“Because of Nibelheim?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Tifa’s gaze was still focused on her gloved hands, fingers slowly flexing and unflexing through black leather. The red line of her mouth thinned. Aerith could see she was wrestling with uncertainty.

“No,” she said, finally meeting Aerith’s eyes. “I just want to sleep.”

Later that night, Aerith watched as Tifa’s features melted into something resembling peace as the green glow of the spell washed over them both.

 

—

 

Light had begun to break over the mountains when Aerith felt Tifa stirring next to her. For a brief moment, she considered turning over and pulling her close, but fatigue proved stronger than will as she was drawn back into unconsciousness.

 

—

 

When they arrived at the inn in Rocket Town, Aerith collapsed face down into the queen-sized bed she and Tifa were to share. She sighed loudly into flannel comforter before rolling over to stare up at the ceiling. Domed glass covered the cheap ceiling lightbulb and Aerith could make out the shadows of dead moths collected in the middle.

Tifa’s face came into view. She still had shadows under her eyes. Aerith patted the mattress.

“A real bed for the first time in over a week,” she said. _So you should have no trouble sleeping tonight._ She didn't say that last part out loud.

 

—

 

Aerith was proved wrong hours later when she awoke to a half-empty bed. Tifa’s side was cold. She heard shuffling in the corner and squinted her eyes to try to make out what was moving in the dark. Moonlight caught blue along the curve of Tifa's neck. She was lacing up her boots.

Aerith sat up. She could hear Tifa pause. “Where are you going?”

“For a walk,” she whispered back. Yuffie was soundly sleeping in the next bed over.

“Do you want company?” She felt a twinge of guilt; Tifa always had a hard time saying no and she could sense that she wanted to be alone. Still, she had to try. Her question hung in the air, the sustained quiet punctuated with the soft zip of Tifa’s windbreaker.

“Yeah, okay.”

 

—

 

“So where are we headed?” Aerith asked. Tifa’s hands were tucked into the pockets of her jacket.

“To a bar,” she said quietly. That was somewhat unexpected.

They walked the rest of the way in silence. Aerith took a deep breath of the crisp night air, savoring the chill. It was late and most of the houses around the village had gone dark. Aerith spotted a few lit windows, the warm, golden light dotting the darkness like inviting beacons.

The silence between them settled quickly into something more comforting. Aerith had always known Tifa to be one of the quieter members of their group, but without the presence of Yuffie, Barret, or Cait, her reserved nature felt more pronounced.

The bar was nothing special. Brick walls, a dartboard, a jukebox, and underwhelming beer selection. It was fairly populated for a weekday night. Tifa ordered a beer and leaned against the bar, waiting for Aerith to place her order.

“Double whiskey neat, please.” Tifa stared. Aerith shrugged. “What?”

They picked a small booth near the jukebox. Tifa looked down at her beer, her fingers picking at the corner of the thin cardboard coaster. Aerith took a modest sip of her drink.

“I’m sad I never got to see your bar back in Midgar.”

Tifa looked up. “Oh? Seventh Heaven? Honestly, you didn’t miss much.”

Aerith propped an elbow onto the table. “Still. I would’ve liked to see it. And tried your drinks!”

That drew out a small smile from across the table.

“What did it look like? Compared to this—” Aerith gestured to their surroundings.

Tifa's eyes darted around, taking in the scene. “Well ... It wasn’t as nice. The slums don’t really lend themselves to ambiance.” She drank from her glass. “There was more wood and some neon signs I found in a scrap pile. We did have a pinball machine, though.”

Aerith cooed excitedly.

“It sort of doubled as a makeshift elevator to our secret bunker.”

“Could you still play pinball on it?”

“Oh, yeah. It was fully playable. Jessie was the one who rigged it. She was a genius when it came to engineering things like that.”

Tifa’s face fell a little at the mention of the deceased AVALANCHE member and Aerith silently cursed herself for allowing the conversation to arrive at such a mournful place.

“Well, there’s no pinball here, but there is a dartboard. Want to play?” Aerith didn’t wait for her to answer, instead heading straight for the bar. The bartender handed her a bundle of red and yellow darts and refilled Tifa’s glass. When had she managed to finish it?

“Okay, I’m red and you’re yellow,” she said, handing over the darts. “Now, how do you play?”

Tifa looked amused, a smile quirking at her lips. “You don’t know how to play?”

“Nope. Teach me.”

“Okay. So, we both start with a score of 501. Then we take turns throwing darts, three at a time. Each number we hit, we minus from 501. Whoever reaches zero first is the winner.”

Aerith nodded. Tifa continued.

“A bullseye counts for 50 points, the outer ring scores 25, and if you hit one of the—”

“Nevermind, this is too complicated,” Aerith interrupted. Tifa almost looked offended. “How about we take turns picking a number and the other person has to hit it?”

Tifa frowned. “How do you win?”

“We both win because the game ends whenever we get bored.”

Tifa burst out laughing. “Okay, I’m game.”

Two rounds of drinks later and the bartender had finally confiscated their darts. The wall around the dartboard was riddled with holes, most of which were Aerith’s fault.

They sat back down in their booth with a basket of fries and what Aerith hoped was their last round of whiskey and beer. The fries were lovely—golden, crispy, and savory.

“I know what you’re trying to do, you know.” Tifa pointed at her with a particularly long fry.

“Oh? Do tell.”

“You’re trying to get me to talk—”

“Well, I _do_ like the sound of your voice—”

“… about Nibelheim.”

Aerith took a coy sip of her drink, eyes locked on Tifa. “Or maybe I just wanted to buy a pretty girl a drink.”

“Stop it.” Tifa flung the fry at Aerith, smiling in spite of herself.

The smile melted quickly, her features settling into something quieter. “Anyway, I just … I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

Aerith had to stop herself from reaching across the table and taking Tifa’s hand. “Okay. We can talk about something else. Like Cloud’s hair—was it that spiky when you guys were growing up?”

To her relief, the smile returned “Hard to believe, but yes.”

“Poor Cloud.”

“Kids made fun of him for it. Then one day he showed up to school with his head completely shaved.”

“That is an image I absolutely cannot imagine.”

Tifa drained her glass and waved the bartender over. The thought that she should stop her crossed Aerith’s mind briefly, but the alcohol had already soaked into her system, slowing certain impulses, quickening others.

“Last one, I promise,” Tifa said. It was as though she’d read her mind. “If I’m being honest, I hadn’t thought about Nibelheim in years.”

Aerith, surprised, leaned back against the booth.

“When Cloud suddenly showed up in Midgar, it opened up a lot of old wounds. And it just made me think about …” Tifa’s hands fiddled with the wicker basket. “I guess I never imagined that my life would turn out like this.”

“How had you imagined it?”

Tifa met her eyes. “That’s the thing. I don’t remember.”

The bartender returned with her beer. Tifa took a long drink, as though she were gearing herself up to talk. Aerith wanted to tease (what happened to not wanting to talk about it?), but knew better than to waste such an opportunity. She sat back and listened.

“After Sephiroth, I buried everything under my anger. I was fueled by it. It motivated nearly all of the decisions I made from the moment I landed in Midgar. But now …” Her voice trailed off.

Aerith wanted to be cautious. But she also wanted to lead her towards a door, which, in her mind, was always open. “You feel differently now?”

Tifa nodded and continued. “I’ve run out of anger. I’m sad and I’m confused. It’s like I’m 15 all over again, even though I barely remember what that was like.”

Aerith can’t imagine what had gone through her and Cloud’s heads when they stepped foot in a place that was supposed to have been razed to the ground. A desecrated ghost town. A falsity. A home that simply did not belong.

“Nothing about the Nibelheim we saw was real. It looked real, but it was all just off.”

Aerith wasn’t sure what she meant.

“Just little things, pieces missing, like the storm drain that should’ve been on our house. But my memory’s … not right either and being back there just made me realize things hadn’t been perfect even before it was all burned down.”

Her tone was anxious, harried by memory. All Aerith wanted to do was soothe.

“What were you like when you were younger? When you were a kid?”

“It depends. After mom died, everything changed. I couldn’t really relate to other kids my age.”

“You grew up too fast.”

“In a sense, yeah.”

“I know what that’s like. It isn’t something you can understand unless you’ve experienced it yourself.” Aerith was afraid to admit that with each passing year, the memory of her mother’s face receded just a little more from her grasp. “What about before your mother died?”

“Different. I don't know. It all feels so far away. Less lonely, I think.”

“What did you want to be when you grew up?”

“I—you’re going to laugh.”

“I won’t. I wanted to be a train conductor when I was little.”

“I loved playing the piano. I wanted to be a pianist. Before mom died, that’s what I wanted.” Aerith recalled the upright piano in Tifa’s “room.”

“That’s cute. Why did you stop? Wanting that, I mean.”

“After she died, I just wanted to hit back at the world. So, I learned how to fight. This one time, I showed up to my piano lessons with my knuckles raw and black and blue ...” Tifa clenched and unclenched her hands. “My piano teacher was horrified. I sort of stopped going after that.”

“What do you want now?”

Something in Tifa’s expressed changed. She tapped her beer glass. “More of this.”

“Come on, really.”

Tifa looked up and held Aerith’s gaze, eyes unfaltering and determined. “Clarity.”

They still hadn’t talked about Gongaga. About Cloud. About the way he unsettled them both. They both knew something was wrong— _really_ wrong—but didn’t dare to speak of it, lest it all come crumbling down. It was a secret they shared and one they couldn’t even acknowledge to each other. At least not yet.

“Eat some more fries.” Aerith nudged the basket towards Tifa.

Tifa grabbed the small white box that was sitting next to the plastic menu display. “How about some trivia? Every time you’re wrong, you have to drink. Every time you’re right, I drink.”

Aerith glanced at Tifa’s half-empty beer glass. “I don’t know if you should—“

“Just let me have this for tonight, Aerith. I’m still having trouble sleeping and it’s the only thing that helps.”

Aerith couldn’t find it in herself to deny Tifa this. Not when she hardly ever asked for anything.

 

—

 

Tifa was stumbling by time they left the bar after last call. Aerith held her upright with one arm around her waist the entire walk back.

“You’re easy to talk to,” the voice at her side mumbled.

“Well, I like listening to you.”

Tifa’s head lolled onto her shoulder. She muttered something under her breath and groaned.

“Tifa? Do you need to throw up?”

“No.” The word came out in a harsh breath. “I’d rather _die_ than throw up.”

So petulant. Aerith chuckled.

When they got to the inn, Aerith opened the door as quietly as she could. She inched past Yuffie’s slumbering form with Tifa still leaning against her until she suddenly found herself tumbling clumsily into their unmade bed. A quick roll and Tifa had maneuvered their bodies so that Aerith was hovering above her, hands pressed into the mattress on either side of her head. She wasn’t sure what to do.

“You’re drunk, Lockhart. Such a lightweight.”

Tifa grinned sleepily up at her, her voice thick with alcohol. “Am not. I’m a welterweight if anything.”

They both giggled. From the other side of the room, Yuffie moaned and shifted in her sleep.

Aerith snickered. When she looked down, Tifa's face had turned serious again. She pulled Aerith close by the collar of her shirt until their noses were almost touching.

“I’m worried everything is going to fall apart. I can’t keep it together like this, I’m afraid—“

“Of what?” Aerith touched her cheek.

“I don’t know. I’m just scared.” Aerith could feel Tifa gripping her arms. Her hands were strong.

“Tell me I’m not crazy.” The urgency in her voice was palpable. Aerith decided to tell her something true, something  _real_ , in hopes that it would help quiet her unease. Sometimes, truth was a panacea.

“You’re not crazy. And I’m scared, too, but I’m really glad you’re here.”

It would have been so easy to lean down and kiss her right then. But timing wasn’t something to be forced.

Aerith sat up and began to unlace Tifa’s boots. They hit the ground in a soft thud and Aerith climbed under the covers. She pulled the comforter over them both and looped one arm around Tifa. Against her better judgment, she drowsily buried her face into the nape of her neck. She held her like that until she felt Tifa’s breath slow into a recognizable rhythm—only then did she allow her limbs to relax, the tide of sleep overtaking them both.

**Author's Note:**

> The Final Fantasy VII Remake hype is real. This game means so much to me, as does Tifa Lockhart.


End file.
